The Mountain Story (33 page)

“Lower!” I called above the rain.

“To the left!” Nola shouted over the thunder.

“
Your
left!” Vonn cried over the wind.

Bridget reached down, her fingers straining, and finally caught the wet leather strap of the yellow canteen between her thumb and forefinger. But as soon as she had a grip on the strap she lost it again. It went on like that for a painfully long time with Bridget almost, then not, saving the canteen. “You’re going to have to open your eyes, Bridget!” I called. “You’re going to have to look down!”

Bridget inched closer to the edge, so close that from our angle it looked like she might pitch forward and fall into the depths. We held our breath as Bridget’s fingers inched toward the leather strap. Finally, finally, she got hold of it.

When Nola and Vonn and I saw that Bridget had saved the yellow canteen we whooped in celebration, jumping up and down in the pouring rain, and we couldn’t believe our eyes when we looked across the crevice a second later and witnessed Bridget drop the thing.

The strap was slick. Bridget’s hand was wet. She thought she had a grip on it but she did not. A basic miscalculation. Life and death consequences. She lost her grasp on the strap and she dropped the yellow canteen, and we could only watch helplessly, hopelessly as the greedy wind rushed up from the canyon floor to fling the vessel against the rock and then out of our sight forever.

Bridget backed away from the ridge and stood up, and we all looked at each other for a slow-motion minute, shocked, and maybe a little frightened, by her calm. The rain stopped then. The deluge didn’t peter out or taper off, it stopped.

The steely clouds still threatened but we were thankful for the reprieve from the hard driving rain. “Bridget!” I called. “You have to go and get the poncho before the wind takes it! Drink whatever’s in the hood!”

We paused a moment, Bridget and me, to look at each other across the distance before she turned and disappeared into the brush. We had an understanding. I just didn’t know what it was.

Vonn was sodden, teeth chattering. “I’m still so thirsty.”

“Look in the rocks, here and here.” I pointed out the water in the granite grooves and gullies. Nola needed help to get to her feet and support from both Vonn and me as she bent to drink. “Drink as much as you can. We don’t know when we’ll have water again.”

We went about like that for some time, lapping water from the rocks, like animals, I remember thinking, a herd of Devines,
maybe it was a
pride
of Devines. A
blessing
of Devines? My gut began to contract from too much of the gritty water and I stopped drinking, begging God to let me keep the fluid even while I felt it rise.

Nola was shivering vigorously so I helped her down to a spot on a rock then took off my parka and put it over her shoulders. Next stop—hypothermia.

Vonn was still focused on the other side of the crevice. “Where is she?”

“Bridget!” I shouted. “BRIDGET!” No answer.

I motioned Vonn out of Nola’s earshot. “We don’t have a lot of time, Vonn,” I whispered. “We need to get Nola to a doctor.”

“I know,” Vonn said.

“She has to come with us,” I asserted, rubbing warmth into my arms.

“We can’t leave Bridget here alone!” Vonn cried.

“She’ll be okay. The Mountain Rescue guys’ll come back for her.” I believed that.

“How long will it take?”

“A few hours. Depends on where the ridges connect. From over there it looked easy enough. A couple of hours to get back to the Mountain Station, I’d guess, but I’ll run into a hiker long before that.”

I started up the slope.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m just going up there to look. To see where the ridges connect. I’ll come right back.”

“She hates being alone,” Vonn said, turning back to wait for Bridget’s return. “I can’t leave her alone.”

“I’ll need you to help with Nola,” I said. “What if she passes out? Vonn, I can’t do it by myself.”

Dark clouds raced above us as I took a quick look around, concerned that there was no shelter from the rain should it return. “I’m going up there to scout. That’s all. I’ll come right back.” I was slurring, which put me in mind of my father. “You have to tell Nola to be ready to go. And tell Bridget to gather rocks.”

“Why?”

I didn’t answer.

Vonn joined Nola to wait, falling into her grandmother’s embrace, careful of her broken wrist. “Bridget!” Vonn shouted across the divide.

“Bridget!” Nola called. “Bridge!”

Leaving them I ascended the slope, feeling a rush of endorphins. We were only a couple of miles from the Mountain Station and this whole ordeal was nearly over. In minutes I’d have a clear view of our path over the ridge and back to where we’d started the rock slide. Maybe it was a gentle hike. Maybe we’d find a marked path.

I didn’t climb up to the plateau—I flew. The air smelled green and citrusy from the rain. I was filled with gratitude.

Heaving, I reached the top, wishing I had a flag to plant, and that I was not alone. The view? No Palm Springs. No Tin Town. No Salton Sea. There were instead spiky pines as far as the eye could see rising up from the granite, which transformed into angry grey faces the longer I stared.

That’s what I did. For a very long time. I stared at the sinister forests and the shifting white rock. I stared at the gesticulating branches of the army of pines. What were they upset about? I was the one who’d been deceived. After all the work and risk
to cross Devine Divide I couldn’t accept what I could see with my two eyes. The ridges did not connect.

The rocky peak that contained the slope was separate from the one that contained the cave. The joint between the ridges was an optical illusion. There was no way for us to return to the place we were before the rock slide, no way back to the Mountain Station, no way back at all, only forward, into the honeycomb of Devil’s Canyon, up and down and around to what?

Bridget was stranded and even if we continued on without her, Nola and Vonn and me, the only way forward appeared to lead toward our doom. We’d risked our lives to cross the crevice and now we were worse off than before. Much worse. I had to laugh, and I heard Byrd laughing right along with me. Because it was ridiculous, and we always thought ridiculous things were hilarious.

When I was done laughing, I dropped to my haunches, gazing out on the horizon, and that’s when I saw the lone pine—the tree that Byrd had shown me in my dream. And beyond it the expansive mesa he’d described. The sound of splashing confused me. I turned to find Vonn squelching up the slope in her soaking wool socks, and hurried to lend her my hand, helping her up to the plateau. Déjà vu.

“My feet are killing me,” she said, then stopped to take in the view.

When tears appeared in her eyes I didn’t know at first if it was because of Bridget, or the pain in her feet, or if she was moved by the mountain’s beauty or if it was because she saw what I’d seen.

“It doesn’t connect,” she said. “The ridges don’t connect.”

“No. But look,” I said, gesturing hopefully toward the distant lone pine. “Just like my dream. The lone pine. Byrd said it was the way.”

Vonn squinted. “There must be a hundred lone pines in this wilderness.”

“It’s the only way for us to go, Vonn,” I said, pointing out the tragic circumstances of alternate routes. “So it’s the way. Do you understand?”

“What about Bridget?”

I had no answer.

“I can’t leave her.”

“We can’t stay. We have to get Nola to a hospital. We can’t expect that she’ll keep on rallying.”

“Go on without us.”

Not an option.

“You go and get help,” Vonn prodded as we watched the wind stroke the treetops.

“There isn’t time,” I said. “It could take hours to find help and get all the way back. She needs to see a doctor. Now.”

“Bridget is trapped over there. Mim is … with her arm … I can’t, Wolf. How? Look at my feet. Now I don’t even have the stupid flip-flops!”

I sat down on a rock then, drawing Vonn down to the spot beside me.

“I hate the wind,” she said.

Kneeling at her feet I unrolled the sopping wet wool socks. I didn’t want Vonn to look at her toes, so I held her eyes with mine, humming the Bob Seger song “Against the Wind” to distract her.

“I hate that song.”

Frankie used to belt it out in the kitchen. I purposefully botched the lyrics to amuse her.

“Stop,” she said, grinning. “I really hate that song.”

I tried not to look at Vonn’s toes too, and then did, and wished I hadn’t, and kept on singing to disguise my concern. Quickly I took off my own warm boots and stuffed Vonn’s feet into the fleece linings, struggling to lace them with my cold, clumsy fingers.

“What about you?” She stared at my feet as I wrung out the wool socks.

“I’m boiling,” I said, and she laughed. “I’m fine. I’m used to the cold. When these are dry I’ll put them on.”

“Just for a little while, okay?” she said, her teeth chattering. “I’ll wear the boots for a little while.”

Walking barefoot in this terrain would have been challenging in the best of circumstances. The rocks were hard and sharp and cold and my feet were already sore and bruised. I could only pray they’d stay frozen so that I wouldn’t have to bear the excruciating pain of their thaw.

Clomping behind me in my hiking boots, Vonn put me in mind of a child in her father’s shoes. I felt sorry, as we made our way back down the slope, for lonely children, and frozen toes, and for Nola, and Bridget, alone and afraid across the divide.

Vonn was relieved to see that Bridget had reappeared. She was wearing Nola’s oxblood poncho and perched on a rock a few feet back from the edge.

“You okay?” I called.

Bridget waved.

“She lost her voice,” Nola said.

“You drink lots of water?” I called.

She nodded, then pointed up at the slope behind me, looking vaguely hopeful.

“It doesn’t connect,” I called. “The slope doesn’t connect to the ridge. It’s not the way back.”

Bridget shook her head, protesting.

I shouted, “It looks like it connects but it doesn’t! We’re going to have to figure something else out!”

She met my gaze across the crevice.

“We’re going to get you home!” I called. “I promise, Bridget!”

“I won’t leave her alone,” Nola said. “We’ll get another log. We’ll make another bridge.”

“There isn’t time.” I caught a whiff of rotting flesh as Nola found my eyes. We were so sure the sterasote poultice would save her life, but we’d been foolish to hope for more miracles.

“You and Vonn go on,” she said. “I’ll stay here with Bridget.”

I cupped her cold cheeks. “We’re gonna be okay, Mrs. Devine. We’re going to get out of this.”

Soaking, shuddering, Nola said resolutely. “I won’t leave my daughter.”

“You have to.”

“I won’t go without her.”

Bridget, across the divide, was waving her arms. Finally, when she had our attention, she stomped her feet angrily.
GO!
she mouthed, pointing up the slope.
GO WITH THEM!

Nola called back hoarsely. “I’m not leaving!”

“I’m not leaving either!” Vonn called out.

Bridget, shrunken and shivering, gestured calmly toward the slope.
Go
, she mouthed again.
Please
.

I had the strongest sense of déjà vu as I watched Nola, beside me, put her hand over her heart. Vonn picked up the cue and
pressed her hand to her heart too. Across the crevice Bridget did the same. I didn’t know that other people did that too. I raised my hand to my chest and put my palm over my breast where the tattooed owl kept Byrd, and Glory, and Frankie, and now Nola and Bridget and Vonn Devine.

Nola’s face lit as she gestured to the horizon with a shaking hand. “A rainbow.”

Vonn sighed with delight
—even
then, even
there
.

Bridget would not turn to look.

“It’s a sign!” Nola called over the wind as the rainbow disappeared.

“I don’t care about the rainbow!” Bridget squeaked hoarsely, but the mention of a
sign
did seem to intrigue her. She was about to look for the rainbow when Vonn raised her hand trembling to point at something else instead.

The coyote was crouched near the sterasote bush about fifteen feet from Bridget. I don’t know how long the beast had been there, upwind where I couldn’t smell him.

“Bridget,” I called calmly. “Behind you.” Then I leapt to my feet, shaking my fist at the space between the coyote and me. “GIT!” I shouted.

On the other side of the crevice Bridget stared at the coyote.

“Don’t. Run. Bridget,” I called evenly. “Don’t. Run. Unless you’re running AT him.”

Bridget could only stare at the crouched beast with the twitching haunches.

I could see she wanted to bolt. “Don’t do it, Bridget!”

“Don’t run!” Nola called.

“Don’t run!” Vonn shouted.

But Bridget ran. She ran as fast as she could run, silently
screaming, and the coyote chased her into the dense brush of the outcropping. We could hear the sound of breaking limbs and snapping twigs.

The coyote howled. Bridget couldn’t scream but yowled with her broken voice. A haunting duet.

Then the beast went silent. None of us could breathe. Even the wind paused to find out what the hell happened between the lost woman and the hungry coyote. I pictured the beast with Bridget’s neck in its jaws shaking her rag-doll body, and had to staunch the rise of vomit. I don’t know what Nola or Vonn were thinking or doing. I couldn’t look at either. I stood there, cursing.

Nola cleared her throat, attempting to find her voice. “Bridget?” she finally called, all business. “Bridget Devine, you answer me!” Her tone said,
I will not stand here and have you killed and eaten by a coyote, young lady!
“Bridget!”

We waited. There was a flash of lightning in the sky to the east. Another sign. I watched the outcropping, praying that Bridget would appear, but every time I closed my eyes I was assaulted by the image of the coyote burrowing into her gut and emerging with twisted lengths of steaming intestines in his teeth. I could smell the blood.